Dorsia
by ebcoleman
Summary: Patrick Bateman and Luis Carruthers meet at the prestigious restaurant Dorsia. (Although categorized as movie fan fiction, it also helps if you have read the book.)


DORSIA

Having just finished work, I slam the door of my apartment, stand for a few seconds and breathe in deeply as I think of what my secretary Jean had told me just before leaving the office: 'Don't forget you're having dinner tonight with Luis Carruthers. It's Dorsia you know!'

How on Earth he hooked a reservation there, I have no idea. Hopefully, my hatred for Luis does not overcome me this evening. It puzzles me why I haven't disembowelled him yet.

I decide to get ready, rather than cancel. After getting undressed, I do 300 sit-ups and 500 crunches on the living room floor while watching 'Body Double', which I have rented from the video store at least 40 times now. I must remember to buy a new power drill. I shower while admiring my sculpted body in the mirror on the adjacent wall. After drying off I complete my usual facial routine and choose a suit for tonight from the walk-in wardrobe. I select a wool and silk suit, and cotton shirt all by Valentino Couture, a patterned silk tie by Hugo Boss, Allen-Edmonds lace-ups, and an expensive gold watch by H. Stern (rather than my usual Rolex).

As there may be a chance to kill Luis tonight, I put a brand new roll of duct tape, some rope, and a four inch high-tensile Japanese steel blade into my Bottega Veneta briefcase. Before heading out, I watch a few minutes of a videotape in which I tortured two prostitutes four months ago. In the limousine a new Madonna song is playing. I tell the driver to turn it up. The ride to Dorsia flies by as I gently tap the top of my briefcase to the beat of the music, imagining what I might do with Madonna if I had her in my apartment for just one night.

The restaurant is full, which is expected even though it's a Wednesday night. I see Luis waving at me from a table as I approach the maître d'. From where I am standing Luis doesn't seem to be dressed like a fucking clown tonight. No leopard skin sports coat or polka-dot shirt.

'Name?' says the maitre d'.

'Bateman.' I say.

He looks at his book shaking his head.

'Carruthers, actually.' I say, pointing at the table I'm meant to be at.

Luis waves again. I'm brought to the table. Luis stands and greets me with genuine excitement and a firm but sweaty handshake.

'So glad you made it Patrick!' he says.

He has this annoying way of saying my name like he is actually saying 'hat trick'. It's probably best that I don't stab him in the eye with the polished cutlery just yet.

'Sorry, if I'm a tad late Luis, but I had to stop at Hell's Kitchen to check on something.'

'A drink, sir?' the tight-bodied waitress asks.

'Yes, J&B on the rocks, please.'

By the looks of it, Luis is already half-way through a glass of dry rosé, probably French. I watch intently as the waitress walks away. The particular shade of her blonde hair reminds me of the head in my freezer at home, next to the French vanilla bean and strawberry gelato.

Luis is wearing a cotton shirt by Charvet with a silk Hugo Boss tie featuring an outrageous color scheme, a velvet evening jacket and pleated pants both by Armani, and Brooks Brothers leather slip-ons.

'Thank you for coming Patrick. I was hoping we could see each other before I leave for Phoenix.' he says and takes a long sip of his rosé.

'That's alright, Luis.' I say, trying not to make eye contact.

'It's just…such a shame things couldn't work out between us.'

'Don't start.' I warn him.

'I'm going to miss you, dearly.'

'Do you WANT me to leave?' I say with my right fist clenched, and my left hand in a pinch gesture. 'Because I'm this close.'

Luis looks like he's about to cry, his eyes looking a bit glassy.

'Fucking stop it, Luis!' I tell him with threat in my voice, trying not to alarm anyone else in the restaurant.

I was hoping I wouldn't have to see this blubbering mess since I ran into him in Barney's a few weeks ago.

The waitress returns with my drink, I drain it in one mouthful and ask for another, speaking to her breasts, before acknowledging her face.

'Of course, sir.' she says and walks away.

Luis is looking depressed, blankly staring at his menu. I try to comfort him.

'I'm sure you will find lots of new friends in Arizona.' I say.

'Sure.' he replies, completely unenthused.

At this point I remember I'm fucking Luis' girlfriend Courtney, usually on Thursdays. I doubt she will be going with him.

'What's Courtney going to do?' I ask.

'She's not coming. Not that she would want to anyway. I don't really care anymore.' he says.

Maybe I could kill them both. I would tie them both up in Paul Owen's apartment, fuck Courtney then kill her while Luis watches with his eyelids stapled to his forehead, then suffocate him with a plastic bag from Barney's.

Dorsia is amazing, my company tonight is not, but he cheers up a bit once the food comes out. Entrée: I have the sautéed prawns in garlic with farro, green olives and pistachios. Luis has freshly shucked oysters with mignonette sauce. Main: I have the Wagyu beef fillet which has a 9+ marble score with a side of sautéed Sebago potatoes and mixed greens with olive oil and lemon. Luis has grilled quail with smoked tomato and black olives with a side of charcoal roasted butternut pumpkin. We decide not to have dessert.

I offer Luis a ride home, he accepts. In the limousine I'm catching some fresh air rushing onto my face from the window. I can tell Luis is staring at me, but I don't want to look. A few minutes pass and it feels uncomfortable, so I turn, look at him and force a smile. I look back to my window again, watching the building fronts rush past.

'I love you, Patrick.' he says. ' _Why_ can't we be together?'

Fuck it.

'Stop right here.' I say to the driver.

'Patrick?' Luis says, confused. He can see my mask has slipped.

I take the knife out of my briefcase, rapidly stab Luis three times in the stomach before swinging his door open and kicking him out onto the street like a big garbage bag full of shit.

'Let's go.' I tell the driver.

If someone finds Luis within the next half-an-hour, there is the slightest chance he will live. Before putting my knife away I'm pleased to see the blade is clean. Not a drop on it.

I light a Davidoff No. 3 cigar with my Dunhill silver lighter and take out my gazelle-skin wallet to make sure I have a sufficient amount of cash for a prostitute tonight.


End file.
